Welcome to Monday Morning at Shermer High
by Shrimpmeister
Summary: My take on the ofttouted what might have happened Monday morning at school, following the events of Saturday detention. Rated T for occasional strong language. NOT COMPLETE YET! Please leave constructive reviews I really appreciate them!
1. Claire

Claire

Slowly, the sounds from elsewhere in the house invaded the warmth of Claire's bed. She'd fought against waking up as long as she could, but now the sun was a little too much in the room, the pounding of her father on the bathroom door a little too loud to ignore further. Monday morning again. She sat up and stretched her arms high above her head, trying to coax more life into her mind and muscles. Her eyes drifted around the bedroom, caught in it's time-warp between the room of a woman and that of a child. Posters of movie stars and rock singers fought for space with lace-trimmed curtains and stuffed toys from Christmas holidays long past.

Claire finally rolled out of bed and began the time-honoured process of deciding what to wear to school that day. But today was different. Today, there was a new consideration – John Bender.

Claire paused, and thoughts of this past weekend's detention filled her mind once more, as they had for most of the previous 36 hours. She'd been dreading spending her whole Saturday locked up with strangers – and they didn't come much stranger than John. It had been a refreshing shock to realise that her fellow detainees weren't so different from her. But even though she now knew that John had his problems just as she had hers, Claire really couldn't believe that she'd given him one of her earrings. Her grandmother would have a fit if she ever found out. More than this though was the kiss. Not the one in the closet, although that one was pretty good. It was the one they shared whilst stood by her mother's car that really did it for her. The ride home was… interesting. For once, her mother was absolutely silent, as if there was nothing adequate that she could say. Claire knew it would come, but during that ten minute car journey she knew that she'd succeeded in stunning one of her parents into silence. Of such small victories is the life of a teenager forged. And there would be more to come, for she had a feeling that things were going to change.

She'd not seen or spoken with John since the car pulled away from the school entrance Saturday afternoon, and a small part of her still wondered if it had actually happened. This tension only heightened her excitement and anticipation of what might happen this day at school.

Turning back to the wardrobe, she cast a more than critical eye over the sea of pink that hung before her. This first decision of the day was proving more difficult than she expected. How much of a change to make? 


	2. John

**John**

John ambled slowly alongside the old railroad tracks. Bursts of almost-identifiable whistling made the birds on the power lines start for a second, and then they returned to scanning for their next meal. Kicking up the dust, John raised his gloved hand to his ear and fingered the small diamond stud. Well, that was a different detention, he thought. Who'd have guessed? Me and the Princess. Beauty and the Beast.

The weekend had finished the way all his weekends finished – a drunken father, a tearful mother, an absent son. He'd snuck back in late last night, and glanced in to see his father passed out in his chair, bottle beside him and the ball game on the TV. Mom had long since gone to bed, and for once it was quiet.

This morning he had surprised his mother by asking if she was OK, before grabbing a doughnut and, as usual, leaving before his father woke. Hell, he'd surprised himself. It wasn't that he didn't care about what went on, it was just that when he got involved, he only succeeded in making himself the target. Sometimes it was necessary for his mother's sake, but usually he just kept away.

He stopped for a while, and looked around. He walked this way to school each day, but somehow today he was much more interested in his surroundings. From here, he could see into the distance all around. Ahead, he could make out the rooftops of the school buildings, and beyond that the river. Behind him stood the housing developments, amongst which was his home, and just the other side of there was the freeway. To his right, the office blocks rose over the trees, and to his left, the white fences and slate roofs of the rich people's homes. He'd given them no thought before, other than to inwardly despise them for their attitudes and manners, their wealth and their opportunities. But now it was different. Somewhere over there was Claire's house, and so he couldn't get so worked up today. The truth was that he really didn't know what to expect when he saw her. Would she demand the earring back, furious with herself that she gave away such an obviously valuable piece of jewellery? Would she pretend that nothing had happened, making him feel that he had to return it on his own? Or would she look at him, and let him see that the actions of Saturday's confinement had moved though thought into feelings? Just because he'd travelled down that unfamiliar road, it didn't mean that she'd walk with him. John was used to this kind of disappointment.

Shrugging his shoulders, he walked down the slope towards the underpass that would take him through to the school grounds. He'd find out soon enough.


	3. Andrew and Allison

**Andrew and Allison**

Andrew had been up for a long time. Woken at six by his father, he'd grabbed a bottle of water before heading out for his morning run. His usual route took him for four miles through the trees towards the railroad, then back past the school towards the river and home. Not today. He'd made the turn at the end of the street as usual, but then taken a right down towards the docks. He needed to find something – or someone.

The previous evening, he'd gone through the motions of stretching and cut some logs for the fire, but his mind was elsewhere. His father watched through the den window, and Andrew knew that he needed to keep up the appearance of working out, as if he had paid his dues to the school on Saturday, but the debt to his father was still due.

He passed three streets, and then turned left into Cleveland Drive. About halfway down the block on the right. There. Number eight. Andrew stopped, and leant against a tree on the opposite side of the street to catch his breath. After a minute, he looked up, wondering which window was Allison's. Again, he was surprised at how much had changed over a couple of days. The house was still, and the neighbourhood, like most others, was quiet. Inside, people would be sleeping, or preparing for work. Reading the newspaper, eating breakfast, showering, getting dressed. All of the usual Monday morning stuff.

Andrew didn't really know why he had taken this route this morning. He'd run this way yesterday morning as well, and he knew that they were seeing each other in third period. Mr Vernon again. How that inspired them. But for now, school didn't exist. None of his friends existed. He knew that the pressures of his peers would come soon enough to try and break the moment. He wanted to hold the weekend, this weekend, a little longer if he could. Smiling to himself, he turned and jogged away, knowing that he had to run for twenty minutes before his father expected him home.

Behind him, the curtains at the attic-room window moved slightly, as they fell back into place. Allison had seen him. She'd been sat watching since six, hoping that he'd come round the corner. When he did, it was final confirmation of what she'd hoped for but dared not hold too firmly – she had a friend.

This was something she'd never had to deal with before – today was certainly going to be interesting, she thought as she headed for the bathroom.

The room quickly filled with steam as the shower got up to temperature. As she undressed, Allison couldn't help but cast a more critical eye over her body in the mirror. Usually she never gave it a second thought, other than from a purely functional viewpoint. But today was different. She tried holding her hair in different styles. She turned sideways, and realised that beneath her slowly growing breasts, her stomach was not as flat and smooth as it could be as it curved down towards the dark patch of hair. She resolved to do something about that, aware that for her new friend, she may even have to take up jogging….

Almost as an afterthought, she turned and looked back over her shoulder. The view from behind was… hell, she couldn't tell if her butt was good or not. It looked ok, but she really hadn't thought about it before. 'I've got gym class later,' she remembered. 'Better try to sneak some looks at the other girls so I can tell!'

With a smile at this weird thought, and whatever else the day might have in store, she stepped into the shower cubicle, and for the first time in years actually began to sing.


	4. Brian

**Brian**

Brian raised the last mouthful of oatmeal to his mouth as he scanned his math homework one more time. As he expected, all of the answers were correct, but his ritual was difficult to break. If only he could check the less scholastic subjects before handing in the results. He had enough trouble getting the stuff even close, and he'd needed to put in the work in shop to get the grade he needed. Otherwise he may have to settle for a different college. Around him his family moved in their rehearsed, regular morning dance – coffee, newspaper, breakfast, briefcase, goodbyes. Always the same, always co-ordinated, always dull and boring. And at least on the outside, Brian went along with them. But inside his head, things were racing. Saturday's detention had been a real revelation for Brian. He'd seen a different life, a different way of coping. He never would have had the nerve to talk to Bender, or Andrew Clark. Andrew would have bawled him out. Then possibly hit him. Bender would have hit him first.

And as for the girls – sure it looked like the other four had paired off, but that was OK somehow. Brian, like all of the guys in 'the smart clubs', kept his own list of girls at school, kind of like a league table. And Claire had always been near the top of his list. Never quite made the number one slot, because there was that blonde that he sometimes managed to watch during physics class. But Claire was always there or thereabouts. Allison… had never really been someone he'd noticed before. He knew she was there, but somehow her attitude and appearance had made her very forgettable. That had changed somewhat after her makeover. The really strange thing was that the girls hadn't treated him like some kind of throwback. For that one, short Saturday in school, he was just another guy. Girls had never been like that before with him. He knew that he would get his chance – and things would be different now. Math now wasn't the most important thing he could learn at Shermer High.

Still, he mused as he stood up and placed his bowl under the faucet, it's easier to say that when you know you've got all the answers right.


	5. Before Class

**Before Class**

Amazingly, for once John was the first one of the five to arrive at school. Walking in across the football field, he could see his circle of influence waiting to admit him. All five of them were, like him, dressed in jeans that could once have been blue, a shirt that no doubt held a pattern at some stage, and a leather coat that had seen much cleaner days. Various bandanas and hats topped off the uniform, baseball boots or work-boots finished them all off, and cigarettes hung from mouths and fingers, the smoke rising into the cold air to signal their defiance of this particular school regulation. He'd never really recognised the uniform before. But suit or sneakers, it's really all the same thing.  
John looked at them – Steve, Davey, Frankie, Mike and Rick. All of them, like him, were from the south of town, all better with their hands than with their brains. And all of them, he now realised, were denying in themselves that they are just like every other kid in the whole world, wanting to be left to achieve and then congratulated for their achievements.

"Yo Bender. Where you been, man? Didn't see you last night at the track" called Davey, who like the rest also imagined himself the leader of their small clan.

"Been keeping out of the way" replied John, accepting the light for his cigarette. "The old man really went for it Saturday night, and I just had to clear out. Fuckin' asshole's no use to anyone like that!"

"How was Vernon on Saturday?" asked Rick, who although he was a year younger than the rest was a good six inches taller than them all.

John hesitated, unconsciously reaching up and brushing his hair forwards so that it covered the gleaming diamond in his ear. He didn't want to talk about his time on Saturday, and definitely didn't want to let on about Claire. He still wasn't certain what she thought about everything that happened in school (and definitely what happened in the broom closet) and wouldn't set himself up for ridicule without good reason. "Oh, a Grade-A asshole, as usual. I reckon I'm booked up now for the rest of the semester."

The school bell thankfully cut short any further discussions, and the group began the slow, aimless stroll over to the school buildings. Gradually, they merged with the rest of the faculty, as students of all ages appeared from their various meeting points across the school grounds.

At the front of the school buildings, the line of cars had been steadily building for some time, as those parents whose job, schedule, or desire allowed, dropped their children for school. As each vehicle disgorged its cargo of reluctant, complaining adolescence, groups began to form as like sought out like. The rich kids, the clever kids, the shy, scared kids, each had its own kind, its own group, and safety in numbers brought about the momentum to get through the day. No matter what fate or the teaching staff threw at you, there was always the comfort of knowing that somewhere else in the school, someone else was being screwed over just the same.

Whenever six hundred kids get together in a single corridor, the noise gathers a momentum all of its own. Adults shy away. Animals seek shelter. But students manage to hold continuous, clear conversations without needing to shout. In this, Shermer High School was no different this Monday from any other. In this sea of bad hairstyling and hormones, relationships blossomed and failed, deals were struck and broken, and friendships were sealed and betrayed.

Alison grabbed a couple of books from her locker, and tried to appear as if she was not scanning the crowded corridor for signs of Andrew. She'd taken a middle ground when dressing that morning, and had avoided an all-black outfit. Even this was difficult for her, and she only hoped that her fellow students never found out where she had got her shirt from. Her mother hadn't missed it yet, which was a bonus, because that was a conversation she really didn't want to have just now.

"Hey"

Alison froze. Let me please turn around with some dignity, she pleaded with her body. And then there he was. She still couldn't trust herself to speak, so she just smiled. Let him say something.

Andrew had sought her out before the other wrestlers found him. He'd also prepared everything that he was going to say, right up to the word "Hey". But he realised that she'd stolen the high ground with her smile, and that he would have to make the first move. Otherwise they would stand there forever, smiling at each other like a couple of total dweebs.

"Nice shirt." Awesome, dumbo. Way to go.

"I saw you this morning."

"I didn't think that you were up"

"I'd been waiting for you"

As meaningless conversations go, this one was shaping up very nicely. Andrew lapsed into silence, and left it to Allison to continue. Fortunately, her nerves were now saying that if she stopped talking, she'd never be able to start again.

"I'd not seen you running before. Of course, I'm not often awake that early. I've never been running. Never really wanted to. Do you get lonely, running on your own? 'Cos I could maybe meet you? If you want?"

Allison knew that she was babbling, and sounding ridiculous. So much for her reputation. But she suddenly realised why – she was eight years old again! She always spoke all the time when she was younger. On the rare occasions that her mother was in her time-zone, they talked about the times when her father was home from the Army, and Allison would follow him around all the time, asking all kind of questions, simply to hear his voice when he answered. That was a long time ago, and too much had happened for them to have those times again. But now this was new, and fresh. It was really like her father had come home again.  
They had found that quiet, peaceful place again, both thinking many thoughts, saying nothing, and staring into each other's eyes, waiting for the next word. And it was duly supplied.

"Clark! If you don't move your sorry butt, you'll be late for practice!"

At this, Coach's hand landed on his shoulder, and propelled hi off towards the gym. "Sorry, girlie. You'll have to wait" he called back over his shoulder, leaving Allison to stare at the track-suited teacher as he and Andrew strode away down the rapidly emptying corridor.


	6. English Class

**English Class**

The noise in the classroom died down as Miss Wilson looked up from her papers. Over her glasses, she scanned the room for familiar faces and empty seats. Claire sat staring out of the window, absently trying to will the clock to move faster. Miss Wilson's English class was not one of her favourites, and as a result she struggled to pay attention whilst doing the bare minimum to maintain her grades. But today, there would be an extra distraction.

"Mr Bender. So glad you could join us."

Claire could feel the colour rising in her face as she commanded herself not to look up, but she could feel the breeze as he walked past, and there was the smell of leather and cigarette smoke in the air. She heard the scrape of the chair on the tiled floor behind her, and only then did she look up, hoping that nobody would see the colour in her cheeks, and afraid that she was broadcasting to the whole world that she'd gone to John Bender, that Saturday, in this very school, and had thoroughly enjoyed kissing him. Fortunately, Miss Wilson's attention was elsewhere, occupied with getting copies of 'The Merchant of Venice' distributed around the classroom to those who had forgotten to bring their own. As usual, this was greeted with groans, all of which were quickly stifled when Miss Wilson looked around for a reader.

John slid further down in his seat, knowing that it was unlikely that he would be chosen after the last time that Miss Wilson had singled him out. 'Romeo and Juliet' would never be quite the same again, and certainly won't be featuring in any school performances in the near future. He'd taken a quick glance down at Claire as he approached, and was now wondering why she'd looked away. He'd been hoping for at least a sign that she'd been thinking about him. And the more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that he'd got just that sign. She was obviously embarrassed about everything that she'd done. And everything that she'd said. After all, as they had agreed, she was a princess, he was a criminal. And just as oil and water don't mix, neither do royalty and welfare cases. He really should have known. If he was running a book on this happening, he'd never have laid down a single dollar at these odds. Still, for a half-hour it was very nice…..

"Are you with us, Mr Bender?"

John looked up, to see Miss Wilson standing over him.

"I must be crazy, but I really would like to see what you can make of Shylock. Front and centre, please."

John looked around, to see all of the other students staring at him. Well, all but one. Claire still hadn't moved since he came into the room. He looked up again, and saw that there was no way to get out of this. Still, if it had to be done, at least he could show Miss Prissy what she was turning down. He stood, and picking up his textbook, walked to the front of the classroom.

Miss Wilson took John's seat at the back. "Act One, Scene Three. Shylock's speech, if you would." With a smile on her face, she folded her arms and waited. Every other eye turned towards him, and John was confronted with a sea of faces and the top of a single head. Here goes, he thought….

"Signior Antonio, many a time and oft  
In the Rialto you have rated me  
About my moneys and my usances:  
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,  
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe."

….. and he paused. The faces still stared at him, but he was delighted to see the smile had dropped from Miss Wilson's face. Even more, that Claire had looked up, and just as the rest, was looking in amazement.

"You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,  
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,  
And all for use of that which is mine own.  
Well then, it now appears you need my help:  
Go to, then; you come to me, and you say  
'Shylock, we would have moneys:' you say so;  
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard  
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur  
Over your threshold: moneys is your suit.  
What should I say to you? Should I not say  
'Hath a dog money? Is it possible  
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?' Or  
Shall I bend low and in a bondman's key,  
With bated breath and whispering humbleness, Say this;  
'Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;  
You spurn'd me such a day; another time  
You call'd me dog; and for these courtesies  
I'll lend you thus much moneys'?

And still the room was silent. Nobody had moved. John placed the book on the desk beside him, and just walked out of the door. Behind him, he heard the noise level rise, and Miss Wilson did nothing to stop it. That'll give her something to think about, John thought, as he walked off down the corridor. Although whether he meant Miss Wilson or Claire, not even he was certain.

Back in the classroom, Miss Wilson was amazed. Not just because the recital she'd just heard was good. Not even because it came from John Bender (although that was enough to stop her in her tracks) but because from halfway through, he wasn't reading it. He'd learnt it. John Bender had studied. She couldn't stop the word forming in her head.

"Fuck!"

And this was enough to have the whole class fall silent and turn to stare at their teacher.


	7. Shop

**Shop**

Brian was having less fun. He stood before the bench, the tools laid out before him, and a shapeless chunk of wood in the vice. His bravado and new-found confidence had evaporated once he realised that the first test he would face was not with a person but with a piece of oak. He was supposed to make this into…. something. Anything. Despairing of his previous efforts, the teacher had given him a completely free hand. "Just do something with that" allowed him plenty of scope to be creative, but not the guidelines that he longed to follow.

It also didn't really help him that all of the other students were just getting on with their work – he was beginning to be more self-conscious about not having picked up a single tool yet. And he needed to do much better, so that he maintained his overall grade – especially after failing last semester.

As he looked at the array of hardware in front of him, he thought back to Saturday, and some of the conversations he'd had. He'd learned nearly as much then as he did in class. What would the others do here? Most specifically, what would Bender do? This was his realm, after all. Well that one was simple to answer at least – John would make something he was familiar with – like a baseball bat, or a box for his stash……. And then it hit him. He could do the same. Not drug-boxes, but something just as familiar to him. He knew numbers and shapes. All he had to do was measure, and then…

Brian pulled some paper from his pocket, and grabbed a pencil from the bench. After a couple of minutes, he smiled, and reached for the nearest chisel.


	8. Gym

Gym

Andrew walked out of the changing rooms into the gym a full minute behind the rest of the wrestling team. Usually, he was amongst the first to change and hit the mats, knowing that eagerness was a character trait valued as much by his father as by the coach. But today he was late getting to class, late getting changed, and was so distracted that he didn't realise just how much his tardiness had been noted.

Coach stood in front of the boys as they sat cross-legged on the mat before him. He had fumed for most of the weekend that one of his star pupils had landed in Saturday detention, and he'd already decided to single out Clark for some humiliation before today, to show him how angry he was that he'd put his own 'fun' before the success of the team. However, he'd just made the coach even angrier.

"OK ladies, listen up. The match against Northpoint is two weeks away - and you pussies are nowhere near fit enough or good enough yet."

This was the coach's usual opening gambit, so the boys just sat and listened. No real sign of any shocks or shouting yet...

"So I have a new training schedule for you all. On the wall behind me, you'll find the names of your training partners. New rule: win or you're out. Anyone who gets their asses whipped by a Northpointer in a fortnight's time is out of here for good. No more easy ride, no more college scholarships. Use the time well - because if you ain't ready, it ain't gonna be my fault. Now get to work. One-on-one mat-work. SHIFT!!"

The boys seemed surprised - nobody was being bawled out. Everyone had a chance to do well. Sure the threat of losing was severe, but they all knew Northpoint, and nobody on the team was afraid of their opponents. They were much more afraid of the coach's wrath, and so they all leapt up and ran to the board, reading their names and pairing off towards the practice mats spread around the sports hall. All except one...

Andrew turned around from the board, to see Coach looking at him.

"What's the matter, Clark? Everyone on my team has a partner, so where's yours?" he said, trying hard to keep the sneering grin from his face.

"My name's not on the list, coach" replied Andrew, still not quite sure why he should be feeling as nervous as he suddenly was.

"Well I guess that means you're not on the team, sport! Because MY team's only for WINNERS!!!!" yelled the coach, causing the other boys to stop and turn around. "NOBODY IN MY TEAM SCREWS UP. NOBODY - DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?"

Andrew cowered back, his life as yet unpreparing him for a level of verbal assault as loud as this in a hall that echoed so much.

"You still here, boy?" said the coach, his words all the more severe for the sudden drop in volume. "Get changed. Then sort out the laundry. After that, go get yourself another class to attend. You're no use to me no more..."

"Sir, no sir" said Andrew quietly, dragging from somewhere deep the strength to respond.

"What do you mean, 'sir no sir'?" said the coach, amazed that this child had the nerve to stand up to him.

"Sir, I'm a wrestler. I need this. Give me my chance, please"

Coach paused for a second.

"OK - one chance. Take it and its back on the team. Blow it, and you are history."

At that, he turned and beckoned one of the other wrestlers across. He'd deliberately chosen the tallest, heaviest, best wrestler on the team - in a weight division several steps above Andrew's level. On paper, it was a pairing that would never be allowed to meet in competitive bouts.

"Well, boy? You want to take your chance? One bout. First to submit loses. Of course, you don't have to fight. You could always walk, like the loser you are. Up to you, boy..."

Andrew knew he had no real choice. He couldn't just walk - because if he did, his father would now that he had quit.

Coach walked over to the other wrestler. Under his breath, he said "Lose this one and you're toast. Win it, and you're team captain. But - " and he placed his hand on the boy's shoulder - "make no mistakes. None." with that, he walked over to the corner where the brass bell hung on the wall.

Both fighters stepped onto the mat, and unusually, the other boys clustered around the walls, not around the edges of the mat. It was as if they could sense that this thing wasn't going to end well for someone.

The bell rang.

Andrew tried to concentrate on staying out of reach. He knew he had an advantage in experience, and might be quicker moving around. His best chance was to keep his opponent at a distance until he was ready to grapple on his own terms.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the worried looks on his fellow team-mates, and the utter focus of the coach. At that point, the fear suddenly kicked in, and he made his mistake. In ducking under one outstretched arm, his balance shifted too much onto his left leg, and he stumbled. It was all his opponent needed.

Immediately he felt his arms pinned to his sides as the larger boy moved in, lifting him off of the ground. Even though he knew what was coming, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Raising one foot and trapping Andrew's left leg behind him, his opponent twisted his body as he dropped, putting immense strain on the ligaments of Andrew's right knee and causing him to scream in pain.

"That's enough!" shouted the coach, walking over to the pair on the floor. "You - roll away!" He turned, and sent another boy to fetch the school Nurse, and others to get a stretcher. He had done what he wanted to do, and now needed to play the concerned coach role. He knew that none of the other boys would speak openly of this morning's activities, and if any did it would be his word against theirs. It was simple. Clark had fought an eliminator for the last place on the team, and had lost. And in a contact sport such as theirs, injuries happen.

He stood and looked down into the face of Andrew Clark as he lay on the floor at his feet, and finally, the smile that had been hidden was let loose - just for Andrew, just between them, and just so that there could be no mistaking what had just happened. 


	9. Recess

Recess 

Even as the echoes of the intercom bell slowly dimmed and stopped, the classrooms disgorged their caged students. The flow towards the restrooms, the schoolyard, spread teenage life like bacteria across the school. Deep in the heart of the mass was Allison, moving slowly and letting the other kids stream past her.

Her first class had been dull - she'd never seen the point in needing to learn German, although it had given her plenty of time to think. Whilst others had been working hard on trying to remember words that sounded nothing like fireplace and cabbage, Allison had sat at the back, reading her text book with her eyes only, whilst her mind roamed free. This was a skill she'd honed over the years as she slid into the dark, solitary persona adopted to discourage anyone from getting too close to her. It allowed her the freedom to travel inside her mind to wherever she pleased, whenever she wanted, with whoever she wished. Invariably, this would be with her father, back to the places she had been happiest, at times before the final knock at the door had signalled the arrival of the men in the white dress uniforms, bringing the news that had changed her life forever.

She was always the same then as now - tall, dark-eyed, dressed in black, a split-second away from being surly and withdrawn. Her father, however, had always been as he was when she was seven: clean-shaven, cropped hair, fatigues, with bright eyes and a smile that would forever be just for her. And this was the one thing that drew her away from the edge, the abyss that in her waking and sleeping moments had so often seemed like the only option for her at the end of a lonely walk.

Now though, there was something different. Back in class, whilst the harsh, guttural sounds of her fellow students working on their impersonal pronouns echoed around her, she had sat on a hillside with her father, talking to him about Andrew. She had told him of the weekend, of the journey travelled by her four companions, of the moment when she let the others in. She spoke of moving from telling the group the things she wanted them to believe ("my home life is... unsatisfying") to speaking the words she actually wanted them to hear. The moment she said "yes" to Claire, who had seen a spark of the girl hidden behind the facade. The moment when, still so unsure, she had glanced over to Brian, and seen the confirmation in his face. The moment when she finally came face to face with Andrew, and in his speechless state she began to dare. To dare to live again. To dare to dream that she might have someone to be honest with - completely honest.

"Jeez - what did you do to yourself?"

The voice clicked Allison back to reality, back to the present. Turning her head, she was Bender leaning against the lockers, looking her up and down. Of all the kids she'd shared the weekend with, he was the one she's found hardest to connect with. It wasn't because his life was any easier or any tougher than hers, it's just that she had no way of grasping the concept of having a father that wasn't wanted, that wasn't perfect.

"Hi... John" she stumbled, not sure how to address him, how to act around him.

"Man you sure look different today. Going for the sporty type now?" asked Bender, unable to stop himself from teasing her. It's the way he'd always been: make them feel bad, and you feel good.

"Have you seen Andy today?", she asked, not quite reading the signs and half-believing that he was really interested.

"These are jeans, not tights" he laughed. "Not quite my style, Toots!"

Suddenly they were interrupted by whistles and shouts, as Bender's associates turned the corner, and saw him talking to Allison. As usual, they immediately assumed that any conversation Bender had with a girl was bound to be an attempt to pick her up. Before today they would have been correct.

Bender shot a glance over to them. He knew he wasn't ready to explain how much he had learnt about himself and others over the course of that Saturday, but a part of him hated them for being the same as they always were.

Glancing back to Allison, he saw nothing but empty space. She was already ten paces down the hall and getting faster with every step. He wanted to call after her, talk to her, explain to her, as one of the only four people in school who would understand. But with the guys watching, he knew he wouldn't do that.

Her face hidden from view, Allison fought back the tears. So much for her had changed since Saturday morning. It _must_ have impacted the others as well. In her anger at Bender and his friends, she started to doubt whether the signs she'd seen in Andrew's face were as genuine as her own feelings.

Walking on slowly down the hall, she stopped at the water fountain to splash her face before her next class, and that's where she overheard the conversation, and all the color drained from her face.

"Yeah - his father is in with the Principal now. Dunno how bad it is, but he won't be wrestling with a broken leg, that's for sure..."


	10. After Shop

10. Shop 

Brian stepped back from the bench, and in his focused state almost wiped his brow with the sandpaper he held in his hand.

Time had vanished - he had no recollection of an hour passing since he started working. But a glance down at the piece of wood on the bench before him told the story of the period. Sat on a small, flat board was the fruit of his efforts: a near-perfect sphere of oak, slowly and carefully chiselled, rasped, and sanded to an exact diameter in any direction. The grain flowed around the four-inch shape, appearing to be rings around a distant planet.

"That's nice"

The voice startled Brian. He thought only the teacher would be still in the room, but instead the first person to see his work turned out to be Claire.

"Jeez! You... you made me jump. Um... hi" stammered Brian. His first meeting with one of "The Breakfast Club", as he had styled them in his essay, and it had to be with one of the girls. With Andrew or Bender he would have been more certain of himself. Still nervous, for sure, but fear of a jock or a drop-out was more familiar to him than fear of looking dumb to an attractive girl.

And Claire was looking good. There was something different about her from Saturday. Something somehow better than the Ice Princess he'd always seen in her. There were deeper, darker edges, he realised - almost as if a little bit of Bender fashion had been allowed to creep into her closet.

Suddenly he stopped - aware that he had, at close quarters, been actively checking her out. And equally aware that she had caught him at it. Color rushed to his face, color that wouldn't have been out of place in her previously all-too-pink wardrobe.

He forced his eyes back up from her legs, moving slower than strictly necessary past her hips and breasts, up to her face. Expecting to be bawled out or laughed at, he was amazed to see her smiling.

"Hey, Brian - it's OK" she quickly said, seeing his discomfort. Having taken Allison through a pretty steep learning curve at the weekend, she felt that she could cut Brian some slack, and maybe help him shed some of the self-awareness that held him back so much. "I'll let you in on a secret - girls really don't mind too much if you stare, as long as you don't make it so obvious all the time. It feels... good, to be admired."

Brian still wasn't completely convinced, but her tone helped him regain his voice.

"So what are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to the library, and I saw you in here. Thought I'd come say hi..." Claire lied. She really didn't want to admit that she'd been trying to find John, and that the wood shop was the third place she'd tried since class let out. And the Library was a safe bet - usually as far from John Bender as it was possible to be.

"Well I've got a free next period - it'll just take me a second to clear these tools away. Mind if I walk up with you?"

Claire shrugged. "Sure thing, Brian. Oh - by the way, I really did mean what I said"

"What - about girls liking it when we check them out?"

"Huh? Oh - yeah. But mainly about the wooden ball - it's real nice"

"Oh" said Brian, and the two broke into smiles as they walked out the door.


	11. Medical Center

**The Medical Center.**

Staring up at the harsh overhead strip-lighting wasn't helping Andrew feel any better. He'd been alone in the sterile room ever since the nurse had finished bandaging his knee thirty minutes before. Prior to that, he'd undertaken a quick examination, a couple of x-rays, and been given some painkillers, which he had gladly accepted. Now the pain in his knee had receded to a dull ache, but his mind was still sharp with the shock of understanding what Coach had allowed to happen that morning.

He had no frame of reference to measure this against. The closest he could get to was... well, was when he'd humiliated Larry Lester in front of all the guys. But he'd paid for that with his Saturday detention session. So how come this felt like he was paying again right now? Coach had set him up, knowing that this would happen. Why, he still wasn't completely sure. But as he thought about it, he became more and more certain that he would not, could not let this drop.

The door quietly opened, and the doctor re-entered. Behind her walked his father.

"How are you feeling, Andrew? she asked?

"OK, I guess. Knee doesn't hurt so much now."

"That's good. I've just spoken with your father, but I wanted to tell you straight away. The x-rays show a lot of bruising and some swelling around the tendons, but no breaks, and just as importantly no strain or tears in the muscle or tendons. It's probably hard to get this right now, but you're a very fortunate young man. The injury could have been much worse."

The relief washed over Andrew like a tidal wave. Much as he begrudged the training regime, the constant measurement of performance and progress, he enjoyed the competition that wrestling gave him, and he had been afraid that it had been snatched from him.

"I'll arrange for some crutches for you, and a course of painkillers to help with the pain whilst the swelling goes down. Let me go do that now. I'll leave you two here for a while."

As the doctor closed the door, Andrew's father pulled a chair over and sat facing his son.

""I've been to the school. That Principal doesn't know shit. Seems to think this was all some 'unfortunate accident'."

"Dad, it wasn't an acc..."

"What were you playing at? You KNOW not to put yourself up against heavyweights! This kind of thing happens too easily even when you're not distracted. Trying to look big was just dumb. Now you'll miss the next match, maybe more. After Saturday, I don't know what's gotten into you!"

Andrew was speechless. Did his father really think this was all his fault, some macho prank that back-fired? After getting detention for such an act, maybe...

"Dad, is that what they told you?"

"I sat with the Principal, and your coach. Coach told me just what happened."

"I bet he did..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Dad, I didn't 'put myself up' for the bout, like you said. I'm not that stupid. I know the risks. But Coach threw me off the team."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"He reckons I'd screwed up by getting detention. Said he had no room for losers."

"What's this got to do with the fight?"

"I knew how important this was. How important it is to you. So I said no. I said I wanted another chance. Hell, after the work I've put in, I said I _deserved_ another chance. So he gave me one. Said I could either walk, or fight. If I walked, it was goodbye team, goodbye scholarship. He gave me no choice, Dad."

"He didn't tell me that..."

"No shit, Dad! You reckon he'd admit gross negligence like this in front of the Principal?"

Andrew could see that his father was torn. Sat with his hands in his lap, his traditional reliance in what the experts told him was being shaken by a slow realization of what his son had been through that day. Understanding how his father felt, Andrew reached out his hand, and laid it on top of his father's.

"Dad, I know I've screwed up in the past. I'm sure I'll do it again, given half a chance. But I've never, ever lied to you..."

For a long moment there was silence, as the truth sank in. Then, in an action more tender than he had managed for a good long time, Andrew's father slowly turned his hand over and gently gripped that of his son.

"Sport, I'm so sorry. Sorry for pushing you so hard that this was more acceptable than stepping off the team."

"Dad, it's OK. You're OK. it's not you that needs to be sorry."

The hands gripped more tightly for an instant.

"You're damn right there, son. Let me go chase up those crutches and stuff. After that - you up for a little trip over to the school?


End file.
